


rain came pouring down

by teatales



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Heaven is Terrible (Good Omens), Panic Attacks, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Crowley, Touch-Starved Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:34:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21663772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teatales/pseuds/teatales
Summary: A week after the avoided apocalypse, Aziraphale has retreated into himself and his anxiety. Crowley helps.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 229
Collections: comfort fics





	rain came pouring down

**Author's Note:**

> This prompt won by a landslide in the poll I put up so here it is! I hope y'all like it. Also, I'm starting a new job on Monday :O so bear with me as I adjust to that. Let's be honest, I'll probably still be writing fic in my lunch break anyway so y'all might hardly notice it. 
> 
> If you're a regular reader you probably know I like things to be Clear and Confirmed but idk for some reason the relationship in this is ambiguous so like, interpret as you want. Bonus points for ace and aro interpretations though <3
> 
> cw for referenced abuse by the other angels against Aziraphale, nothing explicit but it's there. the fic is more about the comfort but Aziraphale does have trauma as mentioned in the tags. please look after yourselves and always feel free to ask for clarification 
> 
> Inspired by the following posts and my own experiences with anxiety:  
> https://ineffable-anathema.tumblr.com/post/188693442391/crowleys-google-search-history  
> https://ineffable-anathema.tumblr.com/post/187347829285  
> https://ineffable-anathema.tumblr.com/post/186581685691/aziraphaleisagender-aziraphaleisagender-can 
> 
> Title from Clean by Taylor Swift

Aziraphale knew something was wrong with him. Since they had quashed Armageddon he had expected feelings of elation and joy in the wake of his new found freedom. They had arisen initially, how could they not? Dinner at the Ritz and the feeling as if a balloon of paranoia had been allowed to deflate.

Pure, utter relief. 

It didn’t last very long. He returned to the bookshop and it felt… off. He knew, as Crowley had told him, that Adam had restored it after the fire. Despite the new copies of _Just William_ Adam had left, it appeared identical to the home he knew so well. But it felt different. 

Luckily Crowley went home and slept for a week so Aziraphale didn’t have to tell him _why_ he refused to open the shop. Instead, Aziraphale spent the seven days alternating between pacing up and down the aisles, running his fingers over and over spines and shelves, and sitting, restless, in his chair. 

Aziraphale barely ate - he was unusually nauseous, something he had little experience with over his long existence. He couldn’t read at all because he was so distracted. And it was like there was an itch, almost, under his skin. He tried everything he could think of - stripping down, layering his well-worn clothing, bathing, and even lying under his barely-used duvet. Nothing helped a great amount, though the bath did ease some strange ache inside him. 

Even without being interrupted by annoying strangers he felt on edge. He jumped at every door slam, yell, horn beep, tire screech and drunk reveler. Aziraphale had spilled more tea in the past week than he had during World War II. 

He didn’t need to sleep like Crowley did but as the seventh day came he did desire a rest. He felt weary in a way he hadn’t for a long, long time. Aziraphale had just sat down in his armchair to try and relax, fifth cup of tea of the day by his elbow, when the phone rang. 

He startled once again and clutched at his chest. The shrill sound had broken the blessed silence and scared him out of his thoughts. Aziraphale picked it up, fumbling the vintage handset with a sweaty palm. 

“Oh! Um, hello?”

“Angel! How’re going? I was thinking dinner tonight, my treat. Whadya say?” Crowley asked enthusiastically, smile clear in his voice. 

A cold shiver ran down his spine. 

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale said sadly. “I, well, don’t believe that I am up to it, at the moment.”

“You don’t believe…?” Crowley incredulously asked. “Angel, pull the other one. You? Missing a meal? Something must be wrong.” 

All of the air left Aziraphale’s lungs. He pressed his eyes shut. Everything Gabriel and the other angels said about him came flooding back. How could he face Crowley as he was? 

He took in a breath as he willed himself not to cry. Suddenly his throat felt ridiculously tight. 

“Ha, yes, I suppose you’re right. Nevertheless, I simply cannot do this evening,” he managed and hung up the phone. 

“Oh, angel,” whispered Crowley to the already-ended phone call. This just wouldn’t do. 

^^^

Aziraphale thought he dodged a metaphorical bullet but he still fretted about everything he had said in the brief conversation. He replayed it over and over again in his head. 

He wasn’t sure how much time passed. Aziraphale lost himself in thought and worry as his cup of tea went cold. He was so preoccupied he didn’t even notice the squeal of the Bentley pull up outside. 

Crowley strode over to the bookshop door and gently pressed down on the handle. For once, he thought better of throwing open the doors. 

It opened for him as it always did. He let out a sigh of relief that Aziraphale hadn’t locked him out. 

“Aziraphale?” Crowley called out as he closed the door behind him. The angel had never dodged a dinner date so pointedly before. And with no explanation, either. It was… concerning, to say the least. 

He made his way through the stacks to the back sitting area. He smelled more than heard Aziraphale pressed into the corner, waves of fear coming off him. Crowley hurried across the room. 

The piles of books opened up and Crowley came face to face to Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale looked up at the sudden appearance of Crowley, completely shocked, and tensed to stop himself from falling out of the chair. How did he get in here? How long had be been standing there? Why had he come when Aziraphale had said he couldn’t go out? He couldn’t go out, not like this, not right now, not at all not ever- 

“B _reathe,_ angel,” Crowley instructed from where he now knelt in front of Aziraphale. He wasn’t touching him, yet, but his palms rested up in offering. His glasses had been hastily shoved to the top of his head in desperate attempt to ground Aziraphale somehow. 

Aziraphale frowned down at him as he tried to decode the words over the rushing wall of noise swirling around his head. Just then Crowley began to move his chest, up and down, in an exaggerated way to guide him. Oh. He was panicking. 

The angel took in a breath like a drowning creature who had come up for air. It was a shuddering gasp of a thing. He dug his hands into the arms of the chair and squeezed his eyes shut. The world was suddenly far too bright. 

He did his best to follow Crowley’s instructions, which now included counts of when he should breathe in and out. Aziraphale couldn’t copy him exactly, at first. He tried holding his breath when Crowley told him to but it felt like his chest was about to burst halfway through the count-down. Eventually, slowly but surely, Aziraphale got his breath back under control. Crowley tried not to freak out too much in the mean time. 

Aziraphale’s heart still pounded in his chest but he at least felt more present in the room. He even managed to open his eyes slightly to look down at Crowley again. The demon tried to hide it but he looked incredibly worried. The concern was sweet, but also caused feelings of guilt to bubble up inside Aziraphale. Why was he wasting his time on him?

“Hey, Aziraphale,” Crowley murmured. 

“Ah, hello, my dear. Whatever are you doing here?” 

“Well I thought looming over you wouldn’t help so. Floor, y’know,” he gestured to where he knelt on the ground. 

“No, no I meant. Why are you here? In the bookshop? I told you I can’t go out tonight,” he said, trying not to panic. 

“Then we can stay in, simple,” Crowley said with a shrug. Aziraphale frowned at him, growing frustrated. “ _And_ my best friend sounded unusually unwell, so I thought I should stop by and check, yeah?” 

Aziraphale sighed. “I’m fine, Crowley, really. Just… busy.” 

Crowley closed his eyes and counted to ten in his head. Now was not the time to lose his temper, even if Aziraphale was so obviously lying. 

“Angel…” Crowley began. How should he put this? “It’s okay if you’re not. I’m not - you haven’t seen me around an open flame lately. But we’re focusing on you, now. Talk to me. _Please,”_ he implored. 

“I…” Aziraphale began as he broke eye contact to look into the distance. How could he possibly condense his swirling, snowballing thoughts into words? Where could he begin? _Could_ he even tell Crowley what was wrong? When he felt so weak, so foolish. 

Crowley coughed which brought Aziraphale’s focus back down. He lifted his hands from his own lap into the air in a gesture of supplication. He moved slowly, incredibly slowly, to raise his hands and place them gently on Aziraphale’s knees. 

Warmth bled through the fabric of his tan trousers. The touch anchored him, in this room, with Crowley. As much as his mind screamed at him _not safe not safe notsafe notsafenotsafe_ he knew, rationally, that if he was safe with anyone, anywhere - it was with Crowley. 

So Aziraphale swallowed down his anxiety as best he could. For once, his words wouldn’t be perfect, wouldn’t be smooth. He would be showing the very core of him and that was so, incredibly terrifying. But… it was necessary. 

Crowley gave an encouraging smile. 

“Well. Since it all _happened,_ or, I suppose, _didn’t_ happen I have been feeling… worried. More than usual, more than worrying about you or my friends or godchildren or what have you. And I was,” Aziraphale sighed and tried again. 

“I have been paralysed by these feelings. I’m not sure what I’ve done in the week since I saw you, but I haven’t left the bookshop. I’ve barely eaten or touched a book. But I also feel so restless and unsettled. Everything seems to startle me when I’m not lost in my head. And I’m tired, but I can’t rest.” Aziraphale placed a warm hand over one of Crowley’s. 

“I suppose I’m just a mess of contradictions, really. And for no apparent reason. We won, Crowley,” he added in an awed voice. “And yet, here we are. Oh! I’m terribly sorry, do you want a seat?” He looked over to the armchair next to his. 

“I’m fine, angel,” Crowley reassured him, pressing down just a little firmer. “Thank you for telling me, I know that wasn’t easy. And honestly, angel? I would say six thousand years of,” abuse, he wanted to say. He best ease Aziraphale into the idea of that. “Of being around those arseholes is enough to put anyone off.” 

Aziraphale was looking down at their hands now. He nodded in response, eyes misty, and gently turned Crowley’s hand over to hold it. 

“You’re probably right, my dear,” he admitted softly. Crowley squeezed his hand and the angel sighed. 

“So what do we do? As you say, six thousand years can’t be… miracled away.” 

Crowley had a few ideas, most of which involved therapy. That wouldn’t do for the immediate then and now, though. 

“Did you try anything that helped at all?” 

Aziraphale frowned as he tried to recall the week that had passed, and what had comforted him in the past. He didn’t think he could handle food at the moment, unfortunately. Reading was out, as was anything that required leaving the bookshop. 

“Even if you think out loud,” Crowley offered. 

The confidence Aziraphale had been gradually building vanished considerably. 

“Oh it’s, ah, incredibly embarrassing, dear.”

“Aziraphale. Please.” 

He sighed and closed his eyes again. “Well… warm things help, soft things. I think the best thing was the bath I had, who knows when,” he waved a hand in the air. “It helped me feel a little more grounded, I suppose.” 

Crowley’s theory was right, then. On top of all the trauma from his emotional (and physical) abuse, his low self esteem and negative self worth, the angel was almost definitely touch-starved. What nonsense Upstairs ran on. A place of supposed love and the best of them was hurting so much. Now was not the time to plan revenge, unfortunately. 

“I have a plan. D’you trust me, angel?” 

Crowley knew it probably wasn’t best to make Aziraphale answer a question like that, now, but he couldn’t help his own insecurities bleeding through. 

“Of course.” 

Crowley’s heart melted a little. “Good. You have a bedroom, right? Let’s go.” 

Crowley herded them to the very back of the shop and up the hidden staircase. Aziraphale climbed the stairs wearily. It was exhausting, all of this. He didn’t what this ‘plan’ was of Crowley’s but frankly he was too tired to care. 

Crowley ushered him into the bedroom and Aziraphale moved to the side of the doorway to let Crowley take it in. It was pretty cozy - it was Aziraphale’s, after all - but it wasn't enough. Crowley thought for a moment then snapped his fingers. 

The lighting had softened and now cast a warm, gentle glow around the room. An additional blanket was now over the bed in a pale blue colour. A steaming mug of cocoa rested on the bedside table. Perfect. 

Aziraphale looked over at Crowley curiously. This wasn’t at all what he had expected. Honestly, he thought the demon might try to tempt him into sleep or something. Not… this. 

“Could I take off your jacket, Aziraphale? I think you might be more comfortable if you did,” Crowley asked. 

That was peculiar, too. They rarely touched, and Crowley was rarely this intentionally polite. Aziraphale hesitated for a moment but Crowley kept his hands to himself and waited. 

“Alright,” he said softly. 

Crowley took a slow step towards him, just close enough to remove the clothing. He gently placed it on the nearby chair and raised his hands above the waistcoat buttons, then raised his eyebrows in a silent question. Aziraphale nodded sharply, just the once, and Crowley took that off too. 

Crowley then stood back and removed his own jacket, toed off his shoes. He gestured to the bed where the sheets were suddenly folded back. 

Aziraphale slowly got into the bed. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone to jump out and say “gotcha!” It wasn’t that Crowley _wasn’t_ nice to him, but this was more patience than he had ever witnessed. 

He shuffled back and sat against the headboard, half on top of the blankets. Crowley walked over to him like he was an easily spooked lamb. 

He then reached down and tucked the blankets around Aziraphale’s lap. Aziraphale sluggishly shifted his legs to make it easier. Crowley lifted the newly formed blanket and raised it, tucking it around the angel’s shoulders. It brought their faces closer together and they shared a breath. 

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, blue eyes wide at the intimacy. Crowley’s hands stilled at the middle of Aziraphale’s chest. He looked back, unblinking. 

A pause. One, two moments. Crowley patted the overlapping edges of the blanket then backed away. 

It was quite cozy, Aziraphale had to admit. It was nicer still when Crowley carefully lifted the mug of hot chocolate over and passed it to him. 

Crowley went to move away, to give Aziraphale space after the unusual amount of touching they had already shared. If nothing Crowley knew Aziraphale’s reactions, for anything and everything, and the way the angel tensed left Crowley right where he was. He hovered awkwardly for a minute, like one of those strange modern exercises humans do where they sit in invisible chairs, before he let himself sink into the mattress next to Aziraphale’s blanket-covered legs. 

They didn’t speak. The room was only filled by Aziraphale drinking the hot chocolate and intermittently sighing. Crowley did his best not to scrunch his hands in the blankets. It was hard for him, to sit in such still silence. 

Eventually, Aziraphale finished the hot chocolate he had been savouring. His thick hands were still wrapped around the mug as he clung to the last remaining traces of warmth in the ceramic. Crowley was all ready to move on to Stage 2 of his hastily constructed plan when Aziraphale moved. 

The angel closed his eyes and tipped his head towards the ceiling. It would almost be prayer-like, if not for the strained look on his face. Or maybe that was necessary. Crowley didn’t know. 

Some hind part of Crowley’s brain took over and he rapidly shifted from his bipedal form into his snake one and dumped himself in Aziraphale’s lap. 

Aziraphale startled at the sudden movement and his hands flew up above his shoulders. After a moment he let out a breath and placed the mug back to the side. He lowered his hands down to gently caress Crowley. 

Crowley pushed up into the touch as much as he could to try and communicate that it was okay. More than, really. It wasn’t as if anyone touched him, either. He coiled around himself a couple of times as he found the perfect grooves to rest in then settled. 

In Aziraphale’s lap Crowley was a wonderful, comforting weight indeed. He was surprisingly warm, which Aziraphale could faintly feel through the blankets. Aziraphale was warm all over now, after the drink, and surrounded by such soft things. It was better than it had been, before. The hollow ache inside of him had been eaten up some.

The very core of it remained, though. Icy and sharp. 

As much as the pressure did him good, Aziraphale knew he needed… more. And wasn’t that awfully needy of him? 

He squeezed his eyes shut. 

“It’s not enough,” Aziraphale whispered, like it was a terrible secret that he could barely admit to. 

They both paused, not breathing. Crowley then slithered away, out of Aziraphale’s lap, onto the other side of the bed. It wouldn’t do for him to return to people form in the angel’s lap. 

Aziraphale bit his lip at the loss. He knew he would fuck this up. He felt his throat close up as he tried not to cry. A dignified exit would be best, really, if he could manage it. 

Crowley returned to his regular shape in the blink of an eye. He had clearly put his foot in it, again. Or tail, or whatever. Aziraphale looked about two seconds away from a complete breakdown. 

“Hey, hey, angel, no, you’re fine, we’re fine,” he soothed desperately, reaching out to Aziraphale but still not touching him. “I thought it might be a lot, y’know, whole demon in your lap. Hey, sweetheart, would you look at me?” 

Aziraphale sniffed pitifully but followed the instruction and hesitantly looked to Crowley. Crowley gave him an encouraging smile. 

“There we are.” 

Internally, klaxons were sounding off in Crowley’s head. He had to be brave, now. 

“Lie down, would you angel? Please,” he asked and gestured to the bed again. 

Aziraphale did as was requested. Crowley hadn’t run screaming out of the room, yet, nor made fun of him at all. Not even in his usual, good-natured teasing way. He was being treated like delicate glass, like he was fragile. 

He sunk further under the blankets and became horizontal, facing Crowley. The new blanket that had resided around his shoulders bunched up awkwardly, but a tug from Crowley and a lift of his head removed it. 

Crowley had lied down next to the angel so he wasn’t looming over him. He had also used a quick miracle to phase through the blankets. It would be too awkward a shuffle, otherwise. Crowley tried not to blush at the position they were now in. He still had to cross what seemed like miles of sheet space between them. 

“Would you be able to turn around, Aziraphale?” Crowley asked. “Only if you’re comfortable, of course.” 

Crowley’s eyes were wide and incredibly honest. Who else had had Aziraphale’s back, all these long years? 

Aziraphale rolled over, away from Crowley, and bared his shirt-covered back. Crowley swallowed at the immense trust that was placed in his hands. 

Crowley shuffled forward so there was only a breath of space between them. He raised one hand under the blanket and delicately placed it on Aziraphale’s hip. 

At the touch Aziraphale tensed. Even if he had expected that it was still so rare to be touched without malice. Crowley shushed him like a small child and began to slide his hand up over Aziraphale’s side. When he got to his waist he stopped and let them adjust. 

From Crowley’s perspective he was given a great privilege. To be so close to the angel, to see him like this. To _feel_ him like this. His centuries-softened clothes and the softer corporation beneath them. 

Aziraphale had seemed to relax again under his touch. Crowley moved even slower this time, a true glacial pace, as his hand slid down over Aziraphale’s belly. While he was doing that Crowley had also waved down the lights a touch. He wanted everything to be perfect for Aziraphale. Scratch that, he _needed_ it to be perfect. 

As the hand touched his belly Aziraphale couldn’t help but think back to all of the things Gabriel had said about his corporation. About how… soft, he was. It was never said like it was a good thing. Crowley, on the other hand, was voluntarily lying with him, touching him. He wasn’t one to keep his complaints quiet, so Aziraphale did his best to tamp down that awful, toxic part of his mind that remained. 

Thankful for their supernatural abilities, Crowley edged his other arm under the angel. He needn’t worry about things like ‘cutting off his circulation’ or ‘pins and needles’. His hands met in the middle of Aziraphale, the sweet, soft center of him. Again he let them adjust and tried not to chicken out. 

Crowley’s heat had truly sunk into Aziraphale now. All along the back of him, from his neck down to his heels. There was still space between them but it seemed infinitesimal. Crowley's hands, too, brought warmth; right where he needed it most. He could weep, with how good it felt. That icy core in him seemed to melt away by the minute. 

He had gotten this far, Crowley mused. Might as well go in with the full thing. 

His arms tightened. 

Not to constrict, like many suspected of his snakey nature. Not to choke or to harm. But for pressure and for presence. To assure Aziraphale that he was there. Really, truly there with him, around him. They were flush together, now. Aziraphale’s back pressed all the way down Crowley’s front. 

Aziraphale broke. 

The cold inside him didn’t melt all the way but cracked open, leaving him raw and ruined. He sobbed bitterly. For himself, for those he had lost, for the millennia he spent feeling worthless and unworthy of even basic kindness. The pillow became wet beneath his face, soaked with tears, as his whole body shook. 

Crowley tried not to freak out. This was probably a long time coming, with the dickwads upstairs and all paired with Aziraphale’s cultivated inability to express ‘negative’ emotions. That didn’t mean he had to like it. If he could, Crowley would keep the angel safe and warm and coddled, always. Safe away from the world's prying eyes. That wouldn’t be healthy for either of them, of course, but a demon could dream.

He held on in silence and waited. For what, he wasn’t quite sure. 

Aziraphale didn’t know how he could feel so bad and so good at the same time. Everything Crowley had done was absolutely lovely and here he was, crying over a simple touch. Though their bodies weren’t human his still grew weary and he quietened down. His face felt hot and stung with salt. It was… ridiculously unpleasant. 

Behind him, Crowley felt more than saw Aziraphale stop crying. Thank Someone for that. Now the angel made pitiful sniffling noises and Crowley felt his heart break all over again. He miracled a damp handkerchief into one of his hands. 

“Here, Aziraphale,” he murmured. They were so close that he didn’t have to do more than whisper to be heard. He lifted the cloth out somewhere Aziraphale could see. 

Aziraphale took off the hand he had been unsuccessfully wiping his face with and grabbed the cloth. He dabbed at his face. Cool relief as the dry tack of tears was swept away. 

“Thank you,” he said in a shaky voice. His throat was strained and parched. 

“Do you want some water, angel?” 

He nodded his head, unable to verbally respond. 

Crowley miracled a sealed bottle with a bendable straw in it. He would’ve preferred to get the water in the usual way - sometimes it tended to taste a little metallic if he created it - but he wasn’t going to abandon the angel now. 

He angled the straw down towards Aziraphale’s mouth and then, with his free hand, helped support him in lifting up his head. Fuck, he never thought he would ever touch those beautiful curls. They were softer than he had ever imagined. 

Aziraphale tried to quell the sense of child-like foolishness he was feeling, that he needed help just to drink water. But, he supposed, he wouldn’t get anywhere in anything if he refused to ask for help when he needed it. And plenty of people needed assistance with all sorts of things. He wasn’t somehow “better” than them, even if he was usually independent.

Look where that independence - nay, isolation - had gotten him. 

He drank his fill of the bottle and released the straw. This all had taken so much out of him, including hydration, apparently. It felt like he had cried out an entire ocean. 

Again, Crowley was attuned to even the smallest of Aziraphale’s movements. The straw was released and the empty bottle immediately disappeared from his hand. He gently lowered Aziraphale’s head back to the pillow. 

The angel sighed. He was exhausted. Weary in a way he hadn’t ever felt it had settled deep into his bones. He never had before, but he almost wanted to sleep. There was something he had to do first.

Aziraphale made an executive decision and turned around to face Crowley. Crowley startled with surprise, eyes wide and eyebrows raised at coming face to face with the angel. 

There was space between them, now. They weren’t pressed together like they had been. Despite the gap, it was somehow more intimate. The eye contact, facing each other. Lying in a bed centimetres apart under the blankets. Sharing body heat and practically sharing a pillow. The sun had begun to set outside and the room was filled with a golden glow and soft shadows. 

Crowley was beautiful. He always was. In all the times and places Aziraphale had known him. 

“Thank you, my dear,” Aziraphale whispered. 

“Angel, I…” How could Crowley say this? How much Aziraphale meant to him? That the angel deserved so much better than he had gotten, so much more than what Heaven had convinced him he was worth. 

As much as Crowley wanted to tell him - to go on a full steaming rant, to do a blasted power-point presentation - he knew it wouldn’t be any good. Not in the early days as it was. Aziraphale wouldn’t be able to accept it. 

Crowley swallowed down his ~~love~~ feelings and gave a small smile. 

“You’re welcome.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are life, I would love it if you left some!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ineffable-anathema


End file.
